Judas
by BenedictScumberbatch
Summary: One man betrayed with a kiss. Oneshot. Teenlock. Johnlock. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The hallway was crowded. Bodies swarmed around John, buzzing and bumping in the chaos of a typical highschool morning. He fought through, trying not to hit anyone with his too-full backpack but succeeding only in being roughly pushed into a locker without so much as an apology.

John gritted his teeth. He couldn't be mad, not really, but it didn't stop him from being frustrated with people's lack of civility.

He stood on his toes, mentally cursing his abbreviated stature, to scan the large group of dull and largely indifferent teenagers.

When he spotted his quarry, he hurried over to the secluded corner of a hallway, where three figures stood, backs pressed lazily to the cool pale walls of the school, backpacks tossed carelessly to the side. The talked aimlessly, punctuated by humorless laughs and eye rolls.

John approached them almost cautiously, as he normally did. Even with time, the air of unease never left John in their presence.

A tall girl with wildly curly brown hair and a smooth, dark complexion spotted John and waved him over. She smiled rather fondly at John, while the two guys she was with just gave him subdued nods, like they didn't really care weather or not he stuck around.

"Hey Sally," he smiled back apprehensively. "Jimmy, Phil," he nodded to each, respectively. They said nothing back.

John sighed through his nose, throwing his backpack down and joining Sally in slouching against the wall. It would be a few minutes until the bell rang, and he had nothing better to do.

Jim and Phil returned to their conversation, Phil pausing every now and then to push the dark hair out of his eyes. Jim scanned the sea of students, eyes lighting up in positive, although diluted, joy. It made John's stomach quiver.

Sally followed his gaze, smiling wickedly at what she found.

John turned and looked, seeing a tall boy, a year under himself, if he remembered clearly, walking alone, stopping at times as if waiting for someone to notice him. His head of untidy black curls shook with each step, and his eyes were downcast, lonely without mourning. John felt a bit sorry for the kid, because he knew that no one would stop to say a simple hello to him.

He was known for being strange, and people silently avoided him, as if being seen near him would make them like him, alone and defenseless.

Regardless of the pity he felt for the younger boy, John wasn't going to be the hero and attempt to befriend the boy. He _did_ want to keep the friends he had.

"There's that freak kid," Sally said icily. "Queering up the place, as usual." She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"I would truly hate to be him," Jim spoke up, a gleam of knowingness in his eyes. "To be hated by virtually everyone in the school, and having people go out of there way to avoid you. Must be horrible," he laughed, smiling dreamily. John stared at him, horrified. He was enjoying this.

"What's that look for, John?" Phil snorted. "Don't tell me you actually feel sorry for him," he stared pityingly down at John, scornful amusement lighting his eyes. John swallowed thickly.

"No, of course not." John tried not to shift uncomfortably. "I was just, er, imagining what it would be like to be in his place," he improvised quickly. He forced his lip to curl back in mock repulsion. Phil and Jim still looked skeptical, but they said no more, choosing instead to watch the lanky kid on his miserably journey.

The four mouths were silent as four sets of eyes watched Sherlock retreat behind a corner, three in hatred and one in a strange form of sympathy.

A horrible laugh spilled from Jim's lips, and he turned to John with a terrifying look on his face, one of sadistic cruelty and impure mirth, one that caused John to take a step back as that searing gaze was fixed on him.

Phil and Sally sensed his idea, and turned looked to John as well, eyes wide and eager.

"W-what? Why are you looking at me like that?" John asked, feeling apprehensive. This was bad, and he knew it.

"Wanna make a bet?" Jim whispered, voice barely heard, but still tittering with a smug challenge, like he knew he had John like clay in the palm of his hand.

John knew he should say no. Now was a good time to go. He wracked his mind for excuses to leave, but all that came out of his mouth was "Sure," followed by an embarrassingly nervous laugh. Jim grinned lopsidedly.

"I'll give you ten pounds to kiss Sherlock," he said smoothly.

John was appalled. That was possibly the most cruel thing he had heard, and he had heard Jim say a lot of cruel things. Since when did people kiss others for money?

"I'll add my own ten to that," Phil said, and Sally nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

John shook his head. "No!" he said, wondering what the hell was wrong with his friends. Kisses were supposed to be shared between two people in love, not something you did because your friends bribed you.

Phil smirked. "Scared?" he taunted, knowing exactly what buttons to press. "Think someone might see you and think you actually _like_ that kid?"

"No." That wasn't what John was afraid of. "But kissing someone for money? Don't you think that's a little bit too far? Not even _prostitutes_ kiss their customers," he argued, wondering why he was the only one in the group who had a conscience.

"Either you'll do it or you won't," Sally spoke up. "We'll be waiting. But I would hate to think that _you_ of all people would be afraid of a simple, meaningless kiss," she said casually, like she couldn't care either way, but the corner of her mouth was upturned in a well-concealed grin.

John hated himself. He hated himself so damn much at that moment.

At the sound of the bell, the students went to their classes. John was glad to leave. He needed time to be alone, to wallow in self-loathing.

John sat in his first class, anxiety clawing at his insides. He tapped his foot stressfully until he was told to stop. He looked at the clock every few minutes, wondering why time seemed so slow today. He couldn't focus on the lesson, and he found himself chewing his already short nails. They were now torn and ragged, and John still felt just as restless.

His other classes passed similarly, with the minutes dragging on and his distress worsening all the while.

Finally, the final bell sounded, and John practically ran from his seat.

He spotted Sally rather quickly, and was waved over to the group. He felt sick.

Sally nudged him in the ribs. "Now's your chance," she said lowly, nodding with her chin to where Sherlock stood, alone as usual.

John swallowed thickly. It was now or never.

He walked forward, each step filling him with dread. He heard excited and surprised voices behind him. Phil and Sally hadn't expected him to do this after all.

Suddenly, John found himself in front of Sherlock. He knew the boy had seen him, but he didn't pay John any mind. He probably thought he was just passing through.

"Hey," John said, hoping the nervous lift in his voice went undetected. He could feel eyes digging into his back, and he knew people were watching him, judging him.

Sherlock didn't react for a bit, but when John didn't move, he looked up, visibly startled to find that John was talking to him. John mentally punched himself in the face. He was a jerk.

"Hi?" he responded, unconfidently, and confused, but with the tiniest hint of a smile. John was now mentally stabbing himself.

"Do you wanna come with me for a second?" John said awkwardly, tilting his head to vaguely indicate that he wanted to go where it was less crowded.

"O-okay," Sherlock said, with a surprisingly warm, but rather timid smile. John blinked numbly.

He turned silently and walked, as Sherlock followed meekly, saying nothing as he ducked his head to the piercing gazes of the other students.

Once John and Sherlock were alone, or mostly alone, as John knew Sally, Jim, and Phil would still be watching, John turned back to look at Sherlock. The taller boy was looking at him expectantly, and John _hated_ himself.

Their eyes met and John took a deep breath. He was going to hell for this.

"Sherlock..." John began uncertainly, wondering if it was too late to back out now. Sherlock kept up his trusting gaze, and John looked away. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, too quietly.

Sherlock had a second to look confused before John's lips were covering his.

John felt Sherlock breathe in a gasp, and he had never felt worse in his life.

John, despite his earlier misgivings, was surprised at how warm and soft Sherlock's lips felt, and the kiss was rather sweet.

_'What am I thinking? This is wrong!' _John's mind screamed, and he pulled his face away quickly.

John closed his eyes for a second, catching his breath and reigning in his emotions. He opened his eyes and risked a glance up at Sherlock to see his reaction.

Sherlock looked stunned. He lifted his fingers and touched his lips, brilliant blue eyes searching John's, full of wonder and curiosity. Innocent. He was so _innocent_ and John felt horrible. He wanted to die.

They stood for a while, eyes connected, until Sherlock unexpectedly smiled, pure and happy, and John wanted to slap himself for thinking it was kind of adorable.

Without a word, Sherlock walked away, still with a smile on his smooth lips.

John looked around, seeing the surprise on Sally's face and an impressed look on Phil's. Jim looked strangely neutral, as if he had known the whole time.

John turned and left.

When he got home, he threw his backpack on the floor and ran to his room, slamming the door. He sat down on his bed, harshly, and ran his hands through his hair. He had just made the worst mistake of his life. He slammed his fist against his wall, angry at himself. It hurt. He did it again. He deserved to be in pain. He was a horrible, selfish person, and had never hated anything worse than he hated himself.

"John?" a voice called, aggravated. "Please don't bang on the wall, I'm trying to sleep!" Harry said angrily from the next room over. John felt even worse.

He laid down, scrunching his face as a wave of dark emotion came over him.

_'What have I done?'_


	2. Chapter 2

"Did you see his face!" Sally laughed. "The freak actually enjoyed it! What a fucking faggot!" She was doubled over, gasping for breath. Phil was sniggering, Jim grinning widely, gleeful. They made an attempt to control themselves at John's approach.

John looked abnormally gloomy, Jim noticed. He always had an apprehensive look about him, but now it was more on the side of anxious, like something was eating him up from the inside. _He's probably feeling guilt_, Jim mentally mocked, feeling pleased.

John felt like shit. Worse than shit. Like the lowest scum on the face of the earth. Nothing was worse than he felt right now.

"So John, kiss anymore freaks lately?" Phil asked, ending in a laugh. "I won't lie, I didn't think you'd actually have the balls to do it." He smirked at John, almost respectfully.

John rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to say something truly despicable.

"So, when do you all plan on paying me?" He raised an eyebrow at them, feigning disinterest, as though the kiss hadn't affected him.

Jim laughed. "Don't you worry, Johnny boy, you'll get it in good time," he said happily. John met his stare for a second. His eyes were ominous and brown, and had a light of knowledge that John did not understand, but it freaked him out none the less

John wanted to reply, but his attention was pulled from Jim when the entire flock of students, normally loud and rambunctious, faded to a stillness. John turned to see what had caused the hush, and to his surprise, his eyes met Sherlock's sweet blue gaze, and the boy smiled diffidently at John, giving him the tiniest of waves. John smiled back, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice that it didn't meet his eyes.

When Sherlock had gone, Sally, Phil, and Jim could not contain themselves. In a matter of seconds, Sally had tears streaming down her cheeks, Phil was clutching his stomach, and even Jim's face was turning red.

"Oh my god!" Sally shrieked.

"I think-," Phil started, breaking off into a rather unmanly giggle. "I think-" he tried again, unsuccessfully.

"John," Sally snorted, "John I'm so sorry. I think he has a crush on you now," she cried, wiping her eyes uselessly. The tears she swatted away were replaced instantly by new amusement

John shut his eyes and drew in a breath. He had really fucked up this time, and it was too late. Now, he was not only the biggest jerk to ever disgrace the planet, but Sherlock also had feelings for him, and it was entirely his fault.

John figured it was just puppy love, infatuation in the way that John was probably the first person to be nice to Sherlock, and to kiss him, and John hoped it would pass relatively quickly, or else it would be embarrassing for him, and heartbreaking for Sherlock. He didn't want either of those things.

There was also the possibility that this would be more longstanding. Sherlock would likely have mistaken the kiss for romantic interest, seeing as he would have no way of knowing that it was for a bet. And part of John didn't ever want him to find out, wanted to keep Sherlock's feelings as far out of this as possible. He didn't deserve to have his heart crushed for a stupid mistake John had made.

Either way, John would have to find a way of letting Sherlock down easily and painlessly. It was his mess to clean up, and he would deal with the consequences of his own actions.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Sherlock would wave to John whenever he saw him, always with a shy smile. John would wave back, when no one was looking. He hoped he wasn't leading Sherlock on, but he really felt bad about what he had done, and he thought that pretending not to notice Sherlock's little displays of friendship would have just been cruel.

Sally and Phil were always sympathetic when Sherlock would greet John. Even Jim's face contorted to pity when Sherlock would pass by in the hallway with a self-conscious "Hi, John" on his lips. How tedious it must be to have the school loser following you around, trying to be your friend, as if. So naturally, the students felt bad for John.

On a Friday, the end of the day, John was alone. His friends had gone earlier, and he was left waiting by himself. And he felt even worse about everything when Sherlock approached him, and he smiled.

"Hi, John," Sherlock said, his cheeks dusted a light pink.

John wanted to look away. It really was cute, if John was honest with himself. Despite what others thought, he really did not hate Sherlock, not even slightly. The boy was kind, mild, and polite. He wasn't bad, just shy, and John thought that, had things been different, they might have even been friends. But this situation really made that hard, and John knew it was all his fault.

"Hello, Sherlock," he chirped pleasantly. He still hated himself, but it had become so common, that he was starting to feel it less and less. "It's good to see you," he said evenly, trying not to show his inner torment. Part of his mind screamed for him to stop, to just tell Sherlock that he had made a mistake, that all of this was a mistake, and he didn't want to lead Sherlock on any more than he had. But the other side told him that doing that would crush the younger boy beyond repair, and that it was better to slowly separate himself from Sherlock, and to be kind to him through it all, than to drop it on him all at once.

Sherlock seemed surprised, as well as pleased, that John had said that, and his face flushed. "Thank you. You too," he said bashfully.

Sherlock turned and walked a few steps, looking over his shoulder at John with a silent request.

_Right. He wants me to follow him._

John followed Sherlock until he recognized the same hallway where they had had their first... encounter... a week or two ago.

Sherlock faced him again, hesitance clear on his face. He lowered his eyes.

"Do- do you think," he started, rapidly growing quieter as he lost confidence, so that John had to lean forward to hear. "Do you think you could..." he trailed off, looking at John hopefully, and almost fearfully, and oh. _Oh_.

"You, you want me to kiss you again," he said rather than asked. Sherlock nodded, too nervous to speak.

John didn't know what to do. Kissing him would be horrible, but refusing, and admitting that he had lead him on this far over a stupid bet would be just as bad, maybe worse. John wanted to wake up, for all of this to be some twisted dream. Or maybe to disappear entirely, as long as he didn't have to make this choice.

But as John looked into the perfect, untainted eyes before him, he knew he couldn't refuse, and he brought his hand up to Sherlock's cheek, pulling him down until their lips met.

Sherlock relaxed quickly as he kissed back and reached up to cup John's face, mimicking his earlier action.

John closed his eyes. It was somewhat obvious that Sherlock didn't know exactly what he was doing, but he was eager to please, and John admired that about him. He discovered that he rather liked kissing Sherlock. It was simple, warm, and just _nice_.

John stroked his thumb over Sherlock's cheek, feeling the soft skin beneath. His mind told him this was wrong, but he couldn't help but think that maybe it wasn't. Maybe, _this_ time, _this_ kiss, was alright, because it wasn't for money, it was for... It was just, just because. There didn't have to be a reason.

John gently pulled his face away, still touching Sherlock's face. He studied him, his closed eyes with long lashes, his soft, reddened cheeks, his unruly curls that framed his face delicately. John wondered, for a moment, how so many people could hate someone so beautiful.

As John stared, Sherlock opened his eyes, a light smile causing his lips to curl at the edges. John's eyes lowered to those lips, so soft and sweet, and his thumb moved on its own to touch them gently.

A small sound came from Sherlock, high pitched and breathy, and John's eyes met his intensely. In that moment, the bet didn't matter, money didn't matter, John's guilt didn't matter. All that mattered was this stunning boy in front of him, with his beautiful blue eyes and his selfless personality. He was so precious, and John couldn't believe that no one had noticed sooner.

John was close, so close to Sherlock. His breath touched Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock's tongue flicked over his suddenly dry lips.

That was all it took for John's mouth to meet his once more, harder this time, but still sweet, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, wanting, needing to be close to him, to feel his warmth against him.

John held Sherlock's face between both hands, fingers curling into his hair.

"Sherlock," he whispered. Sherlock's eyes met his, quietly curious. "You're beautiful."

And John meant it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Well, this is it guys. I'd like to thank all of you who have read, followed, favorited, and reviewed. You are all truly lovely. (BlindViolinist, the kitten reference is for you!)**

**I must say, this didn't turn out the way I had originally planned, but I like this much better. Also, I hope I captured Moriarty's character pretty well. I tried, anyway, haha. On a final note, enjoy, and thank you for being wonderful!**

The next few weeks had been a blur. A dizzying, whirling, wonderful blur, and John had been content. He had traded his morning routine of slinking around with Jim and Phil and Sally for sitting behind the school building, nestled under the shady branches of a little tree, with Sherlock. It wasn't loud or crowded or stressful. It was soft, and quiet, and calm.

Sherlock, as it turned out, wasn't such a quiet boy after all. All he had needed was that little push, and he wouldn't shut up. But that was okay, John thought, because he loved hearing Sherlock's voice, deep and passionate, talking about the things he cared about. And he would gesture widely with his hands, as if to express what words could not. And when he would finally grow quiet, John would smile at him, and notice, not for the first time, how that sparkle of life and joy lit up those eyes. It was a much better look than seeing the boy's downcast eyes staring at his feet every day. No, this was definitely better, and the best part was, John was the only one to see it.

Sherlock, who had always been a shy kid, had opened up so much to John. About his life, his goals, his future. The things he loved and the things he hated. And John had done the same. It was different than talking to Sally or Jim. With them, he had to be guarded, and artificial. With Sherlock... there was no pretending, no struggle to find the right words, to try to earn respect. With Sherlock, it didn't matter if he said something stupid, or made a mistake. And he didn't have to win Sherlock's affection, it was freely given, and he felt utterly free.

And sometimes, when John felt especially close to Sherlock, they would share a kiss, simple and sweet, and both of them would smile.

John had pushed aside the memory of the bet, of his initial guilt. He didn't care anymore. He didn't want the money. He didn't want to show his friends how brave he was. He didn't care anymore, because he had found something better. He had found his secret place, and he felt a sense of belonging that he had never felt before. And he was happy.

Monday rolled around, the fourth week, and Sherlock was quiet that day. Not a bad quiet, a good, comfortable quiet. The kind where no words need to be exchanged, but it's just... nice.

The morning was cool, not cold, but not warm either. John scooted closer to Sherlock, pressing up against him and sharing their warmth. Sherlock sighed, resting his head against John, closing his eyes. John smiled fondly, and resisted the urge to tangle his fingers in Sherlock's curls.

Before long, the bell rang, signifying the need to get to class. John rolled his eyes, annoyed.

Sherlock sleepily tried to sit up, to get up, and go to class, but John stopped him gently. "Wait."

Sherlock stilled, blinking tired eyes, looking at John with curiosity. John reached his hand out to touch Sherlock's face, leaning down to kiss him between his eyebrows, and then on his lips.

Sherlock's smile was positively radiant, and the sound he made reminded John of a kitten's purr. He grabbed at John's shirt, and John indulged in another quick kiss before helping Sherlock to his feet.

They walked to the front of the school, and Sherlock curled into John's embrace. John looked at him tenderly, and he made a decision. Today, after school, he would formally ask Sherlock to be his boyfriend. He smiled secretively at the thought.

"Have a good day in your classes today," John whispered.

"M'kay," Sherlock replied into the fabric of John's shirt.

When they separated, each going to his own classroom, John caught sight of Sally, Phil, and Jim. He gave them a friendly smile, more honest that ever before. Sally almost reciprocated, and Phil's face changed in acknowledgement. Jim, however remained impassive, as if he genuinely hadn't noticed.

Before that thought could fully cross John's mind, a smirk took over Jim's face, lustful and dark. Jim looked at John and winked, and John realized that he _knew_. How he knew, what he knew, John could only guess, but there was no denying the sinister truth. John felt the icy feet of genuine fear crawl down his spine. He ducked into the safety of his Anatomy class.

John's day went surprisingly well, and judging by the happy wave Sherlock had given him in the hallway when they passed each other, his had been good too.

John was feeling confident and complacent as he made his way to the back entrance of the school. Suddenly, he felt shadows prick the edges of his vision, and he looked to see Jim on one side, Phil on the other, Sally close by. Soon, they had crowded him in, and his shoulder touched a wall. Behind him, the cold metal of a locker chilled his exposed elbows as he leaned back. Jim's face was uncomfortably close to his own, hot breath flavored with mint. John tried not to look afraid, his face contorted in discomfort.

"Where's your pretty boyfriend, Johnny?" He asked, loudly chewing a piece of gum.

John swallowed nervously, trying not to look around for Sherlock's familiar lean frame, and failing. He returned his eyes to Jim's, a facade of bravery.

"He's not my boyfriend," he said weakly, although truthfully. Jim _tsked_ and gave him a loaded glance, as if to say _'but that isn't true.'_

"Good!" Said Jim brightly, smiling like a small child would upon being praised. "Because really, dear, you could do so much better," he said darkly, licking his lips and sending another breath reeking of mint over John's face.

John felt uneasy. Sally was looking at him eagerly, too eagerly, and Phil's face showed keen interest. Jim's eyes sparkled with malicious intent, and John wondered just what it was that he was implying.

He lowered his eyes, angrily refusing to look at Jim. He hated Jim. He hated him for insulting Sherlock like that. Jim didn't have any idea what he was talking about.

John wanted to wriggle away, realizing he couldn't. He was surrounded, and if he tried to move, Jim would hold him steady until he was finished talking. And Jim hated to be interrupted. John tried anyway.

"Where are you going, darling?" Jim said gently, like a mother to a baby. John wanted to spit. "I'm was just getting to the best part."

John, knowing that he had no other choice, slumped back against the locker, grinding his teeth in annoyance.

"What?" He huffed out, glaring at Jim.

Jim looked offended. John didn't care.

Jim fished in his pocket for a second, pulling out the money he had promised John. So that's what this is about. John was surprised, and it must have shown.

"What?" Jim asked, voice sounding honesty hurt. "You didn't think I would keep my promise?" He looked like a kicked puppy. Jim held out the money to John earnestly.

John didn't move. "I don't want it," he said simply, and he didn't. It stood for bad things, for John's guilt, for John's sins. He didn't need the reminder, and it hardly mattered now.

"Oh?" Jim raised a curious eyebrow, smiling softly. He reached out his other hand to John's left forearm. "But surely," he said loudly, walking in front of John, "you do. I don't think you would have kissed dear little Sherlock if you hadn't had a good... _incentive_." As he moved, his fingers trailed up John's arm, across his chest and down his shoulder, searing his flesh. He stopped to place the money in John's right hand, curling his fingers around John's to make sure he took it.

"Honestly, I didn't expect you to lead him on so far," Jim nearly shouted, moving to invade John's space again. "I figured you, with your over developed since of _righteousness_ and _morals_, would have gone easy on his poor, _breakable_ heart," he whispered. "But it seems I was wrong," Jim said woefully, taking a step back. "Johnny boy is now the bad guy. And wittle bitty Sherlock has no clue," he pouted. A step forward. "I'm impressed with you, darling," Jim nearly sang, caressing John's face. "I never thought you could be so... _bad_," he finished, breathing the word against John's defenseless ear.

John was shaking. He couldn't remember ever feeling this angry before. He was so disgusted, he couldn't think properly, and he wanted to punch Jim in his vile face. He wanted to make him hurt, bleed until he realized just how repulsive he was.

John's fists were clenched so hard, his nails sunk into his palm, digging into the flesh, hard enough to draw blood. The pain was a welcomed distraction, and if he focused on it, he just might be able to reign in his temper enough to deal with this civilly.

With a clenched jaw and face of pure hatred, John lifted his head to stare defiantly at Jim. The look fell from his face as his eyes met not the brown fire of Jim's, but rather Sherlock's deep blue eyes, which now looked like pools of water, infinite and filled with pain. Betrayal.

John didn't know what emotion he was feeling, but it was dangerous. As he watched Sherlock retreat, looking small and vulnerable, John felt something inside him snap.

He whipped his head around to glare at Jim, eyes ablaze with fury. Jim was smirking. He looked so satisfied, so damn proud of himself, and if John hated him before, he was murderous now. There was no way in hell he was going to deal with this civilly.

"Fuck you!" He whispered, voice wavering. "Fuck you!" He shouted, surprising Jim, surprising those nearby, surprising himself. "You knew! You did this on purpose. Well you're sick. You- you need mental help. I never thought anyone could be that cruel!" He seethed. Jim was clearly not expecting this, he probably thought he was doing John a favor, but there was no regret on his face, instead he drank it all in, lapping up John's hate and misery eagerly.

"Well, you know what, Jim? It didn't work! Because I- because he- Because I care about him, more than anyone could know. And guess what? I don't care what you, or anyone thinks, because he makes me happy, and if you can't be okay with that, then you must really be miserable if you have to ruin other peoples lives." John felt good, he felt so good, just to let that all out. Finally. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an apology to make," he said as he pushed by, stopping to turn around and punch Jim straight in the face, just for good measure. His fingers hurt, but he couldn't care.

To his surprise, the students who had gathered let him pass, and some regarded him with respectful glances. Someone started clapping, and the crowd took it up. John ignored it all, searching desperately for a head of curly dark hair.

He found him finally, in the nurse's office, curled up on one of those uncomfortable cots. It was a heartbreaking sight, really, and John swallowed his guilt. He had to be strong now.

"Sherlock?" he called out quietly. He, as he expected, received no response.

John sighed slightly, making his way to where Sherlock was lying. He knew he wasn't asleep. He placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, feeling the boy stiffen and jerk away. John sat down on the edge of the bed. This was going to be harder than he thought.

"Sherlock, please," he nearly begged, waiting for Sherlock to tell him to leave, or to stay completely silent, or some other rejection.

Instead, Sherlock, said, almost inaudibly, "is it true?" He sounded so fragile, as if a wrong word from John could break him.

John ran his hand through his hair. He couldn't lie. He wouldn't.

"Part of it," he said, ashamed. "I did originally kiss you on a dare. I knew it was wrong, Sherlock, I knew better," he started, quietly. "But I still did it. Please believe that I have never felt more guilty about anything in my entire life. It was wrong, terrible of me to do that, and I did it anyway. And I shouldn't have. But I cannot, honestly, say that I regret it." John's voice grew louder, more passionate. "Because if I hadn't kissed you that first time, there wouldn't have been a second time, or a third time, and I wouldn't have gotten to know you, and I wouldn't be in love with you. And why would I regret that?" John finished, exhausted.

Sherlock was so quiet, and John felt anxious. He still had his back to John, and John couldn't tell how he was feeling, but he knew he was crying.

"Say something," he pleaded, helpless. Sherlock didn't. John felt his heart break in his chest as he stood to leave, although part of him told him he deserved this.

Sherlock's hand caught his wrist. John hardly dared to hope. He turned his head back to face Sherlock. He still would not look at John, but this... this was enough for now.

It was a few long moments before Sherlock spoke.

"Do I really make you happy?" he asked finally.

John opened his mouth to say _'yes, yes, of course, you make me _so_ happy'_, but his voice caught in his throat as he realized that Sherlock hadn't stopped listening when John thought he had. Sherlock had heard everything, had heard John go off at Jim, had probably even seen him punch Jim in the face.

John smiled, reaching his hand out to run it through Sherlock's hair. "Of course," he breathed, voice thick.

Sherlock rolled over, and John was surprised to see that there was no trace of sadness on his face, or anger, aside from reddened eyes Instead, he looked positively delighted as he grinned up at John. John thought he looked beautiful.

"Then I suppose, it's all okay," Sherlock said. "Because you make me happy too."

John smiled back. And he laughed. And Sherlock laughed. And John kissed Sherlock, good and hard, and Sherlock smiled against his lips, wrapping his arms around John, and god it felt so right.

"Sherlock," John whispered at the same time Sherlock whispered "John."

They looked at each other, long seconds going by, before laughing again.

"Sherlock, will you be my boyfriend?" John asked, Sherlock's breath laughingly against his face.

Sherlock didn't respond, he just kissed him again, and John didn't think his heart was big enough to contain his happiness at that moment.


End file.
